Tag Archives: Samantha Seto

Lives of Infinity

by Samantha Seto


This lonely hill was always dear to me.
I hear the wind stir these branches,
I begin comparing that endless stillness
with this noise pounding in my head.

The eternity comes to mind,
dead seasons, lives of forever bound,
so my head sinks, tears drift to the ground.

The eternal, all-commanding nature
was created for me to suffer.
The earth gods have denied hope,
my eyes would never shine, they whisper.

I race blindly through the grasslands,
memories pour out of the sky.
Evergreens tremble in the wind,
dirt beneath the melancholy earth.

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Nature Awakening

by Samantha Seto


The fading moon, and she emerges
from quiet woods above the cliff.
We love swimming in the clouds,
along the high cliffs and deep in valleys,
we chase the scattering of flocks,
roaring anger of the rising river water
from a rocky, sandy bank.

The cloak is lovely, divine heaven,
in your proud kingdom, I am worthless.
My eyes follow the light that reflects you.
In the shadow if the bending willows,
we meet and dance at once.

We are going to die. The spell is cast.
Our souls are blind to our fate.
Gazing into midnight, we are hopeless love,
with our illusions and dreams of childhood.
The happiest day of life is first to leave us.

Waterfall

by Samantha Seto


Breaking before our eyes into a sound,
as whoosh and swish of the ocean tide.
In constant as rhythmic strokes
branches crack and are thrown into the stream.

I stood among the trees and watched,
immobile in the cooling shade,
the leaf surfaced, face up beneath the bridge.
Woooh, the wind howled.

Cut limbs falling, the crack they make,
each dropping from its trunk as though for once
the last branch of winter made us trim.

Lost for violence of mid-air branches,
soft current dragged on as wind chimes
blew at the stretch of the dam.

Wading water into land, downward
as the deep blue sea, at times where
the light reflected a bend.

Slowed the surface calm waters,
evergreen trees lined the banks of river,
as natural forces contained the seed of life.

Page-Turner

by Samantha Seto


The fabric around me: my thighs, fingers, hipbones.
Crashing to the ground, I let my hair loose in the dirt.
Only this time, I was the fair maiden.

Winding my body around to fix myself,
the position of the girl is out of my reach.
My loose hair has knarls and dirt in tangles,
my eyes as crystal as the river.

I clean my skin at the riverbank,
my face is a chalky white amongst evergreens.
The light collects deep shades of shadow
while overhead a round-eyed sky
never blinks but stares blindly in blue.

Photographs in black-and-white reveal
inner beauty of the other girl, not me.
Until the moon casts darkness in trees,
its thousand changes burning into one.

Purple Veil

by Samantha Seto


My lipstick rolls under the wooden table,
I shield my eyes against the glittering lavender.
The veil trails behind me, dragging on the floor,
I dream of a funeral trance as I walk in sunlight.

Purple lineage streams down like a
water fountain over my hair.
Striped orange clothing in a chair,
big yellow button holds seams at center.

Scripted in a secret mess, it was sewn,
crafthand of time and work inscribes
signs of its origins, circling the rough fabric,
unrepeated lilacs and indigo, silver beads.

Rhythmic strides to an open window,
I gaze at the sun through my covering.
In the blanked purple carpet, my heart beats,
I breathe a lasting scent that lets me stay.

Taste of Summer

by Samantha Seto


I. The blackberries ooze in the sunlight
honey taste ripe at this pond of water lilies.
I hear the birds chirping and the grasses sway.

I run among wildflowers, breathe in a linen scent,
free pulse of adrenaline rushes ahead of me,
my prairie skirt flows with the brush of wind,
lingers in the memory of sunrise.

II. I wash my callused, chalky hands in
brown water basin, my pilgrim dress stained.
Olive oil mixes with soup from steam,
breadbaskets line the laced tables.
I hear the cook in the busy kitchen holler
at beaten maids, weary weighing them down.

I light a match in the dark timber at fireplace,
a few candles to eat supper in this evening.
But I feel like a slave chained to this ground.